


patient

by santanico



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Bigender Hawke, M/M, Mage Hawke - Freeform, Reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 07:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3562151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>hawke doesn't know how to read, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	patient

**Author's Note:**

> this came together from a collection of thoughts and ideas shared between myself sonja/[crowleyshouseplant](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crowleyshouseplant/) and the lovely idea that hawke might not be very good at reading, for a variety of reasons. delicious self indulgence.
> 
> hawke is referred to consistently as they/them/their. no particular gender holds more weight or is more relevant for this piece.

hawke lays down on their stomach, examining the papers spread out. anders is sat at hawke’s desk, going through sheets, and fenris is sat next to hawke, scowling as he flips through pages.

“no,” fenris says, “i’m not going to read your damn manifesto.”

“i don’t want you to read it anyway,” anders snaps. “hawke, you’ll read it, won’t you?”

“i’ll try,” hawke says, smiling up at anders. they can feel fenris’ scowl somehow get worse. “how do you concentrate, when you’re frowning like that?”

fenris sighs but his expression shifts to an almost smile.

-

they spend three lazy weeks together in hawke’s bedroom, looking through dictionaries and story books, and different friends trickle in and out.

anders leaves after the first day, huffing and muttering about how difficult hawke and fenris are, and though hawke loves anders, they’re glad to see him leave - for now, at least. it only makes fenris tense to be surrounded entirely by magic, and it doesn’t help that anders and fenris have a strange rivalry that may or may not have something to do with hawke as well.

isabela doesn’t care much for reading either, but she likes to tease them both from her perch on hawke’s bed, and sometimes she’ll write sloppy notes on a sheet of paper, crumple that paper into a ball, and aim at fenris’ head when he’s not looking. the first couple of times he curses at her and looks like he might leave, but soon he settles, and isabela becomes bored with her game.

“why are you two so invested in this? i’ve never had any use for reading. people should just  _talk_  to each other, shouldn’t they? much easier. no use communicating long distance. takes too long for letters to show up, anyway.”

“you’re a pirate, isabela,” hawke says, smiling. “not all of us get to adventure like you.”

isabela clicks her tongue, pulling off her boots and folding her knees to her chest. she rests her chin on top of her knees and wraps her arms around her legs, watching them quietly for a moment. “i haven’t been a pirate in years, honestly. it’s a little sad.”

“don’t fret, ‘bela,” fenris says, not looking up from the book he’s staring at. hawke watches as fenris keeps his eyes trained on one single line, hard and focused. “you’ll be back at sea soon.”

hawke watches isabela stare at fenris. “thank you,” she says, huffing out a sigh. “i don’t know if that’s true, but thank you anyway.”

fenris smiles.

-

the book hits a wall with a  _thud_  and finds the floor with a dull  _thump_.

“hey,” hawke says, looking at fenris and frowning. fenris pulls himself to his feet and starts to pace. “just because you’re getting impatient doesn’t mean -”

“what is the point of this?” fenris spins around, glaring. “i can’t do it. i never knew how. never knew the point. it doesn’t  _matter_.”

“i…” hawke isn’t sure they have an answer. fenris is - frustrated. rightfully so. and so is hawke, but they know why they’re doing it.

they don’t know if they should be honest, though. that might make things worse.

“do you…want to know why i do it?” hawke says.

fenris crosses his arms and raises one eyebrow. 

hawke clears their throat. “uhm,” they start, “i want to - well - i want to be able to…i want to read, what you, erm. what you eventually…write. if you choose to, i mean. i hoped -”

fenris’ expression shifts and hawke cuts themself off. “i’m sorry,” they say, sitting up and stretching their arms over their head. “i don’t mean to - i shouldn’t. i shouldn’t have asked you to join me…oh, it doesn’t matter.”

fenris doesn’t say anything and walks closer to hawke, settling onto his knees in front of hawke. hawke flinches when fenris touches their face, but fenris’ hands are gentle and his fingers brush over their cheeks without so much as a sense of threat.

“you are…a ridiculous person. it is unlikely that i deserve such affection.”

hawke smiles. “it’s okay, though. if you want to let it go.”

fenris kisses hawke and hawke feels the smile against their lips.

-

merrill offers her help (she’s been writing and reading written language as long as she can imagine, both the common tongue and numerous elven tongues) and though fenris is uncertain at first, he warms up to her presence.

merrill is patient - she doesn’t roll her eyes or give frustrated scoffs when either fenris or hawke is struggling in the way anders was prone to. instead she smiles and says things like “i know it’s hard, but i know you can do it.” she’s more patient with fenris than hawke ever imagined, and it makes them smile to see the two getting along, even if sometimes fenris snaps at merrill, or glares in her direction.

“you don’t give yourself enough credit.  _either_  of you,” merrill is saying as hawke throws down a dictionary and stands up, walking out of their room. “hawke! oh, c’mon -  _hawke_!”

“let them go,” fenris’ voice is quiet as hawke heads down the stairs before stopping at their writing desk. it’s frustrating, how people always assumed they had no problem answering letters. leandra used to read them out loud to her child - not anymore, but she used to, and a couple of times she’d commented about teaching hawke to learn again, about how carver was probably struggling and embarrassing himself with the grey wardens and she wished she’d taught him sooner, how she wished they’d had the chance but three mages in one family, there were other things on everyone’s minds, she’s just glad hawke can control their magic, and that they’re so successful.

they had never gotten around to it, and hawke’s stomach churns. usually anders reads the letters if he’s around these days, or merrill or orana. orana is very good at reading. a duty of hers from the magisters, hawke guesses.

“damn it all.”

fenris hovers at the bottom of the stairs. “hawke.”

“what?”

“it’s alright. to be angry.”

“i  _know_.”

“you don’t have to pretend - for me -”

“i’m not!” they snap. “i’m not.” hawke lets out a breath, shakes their head. “i’m sorry. this isn’t your fault.”

fenris touches hawke’s shoulder, hands brief but still  _there_  and hawke closes their eyes, tries to focus on fenris. fenris smells like…hawke isn’t sure, maybe a river, maybe tree branches if they had a distinct scent. it’s a comfort.

“i miss my sister,” hawke grits out, and fenris is closer, warm. hawke doesn’t open their eyes, afraid merrill will be peeking down the stairs at them. “and i miss carver, too.”

“you will see carver again.”

hawke chokes on a sob and fenris’ hands find their face again. their foreheads connect and hawke lets themself lean into the touch, faltering.

“i won’t see bethany. or my father. or my mother. they’re gone. it’s just carver and me.”

“i know,” fenris whispers. “i’m so sorry.”

they fall asleep together in front of the fireplace that night, fenris’ arm around hawke’s waist, and hawke sleeps well knowing fenris won’t be gone in the morning.

-

“do you want to know why i keep doing this?” fenris asks. varric and isabela are arguing and laughing downstairs, and hawke peers at fenris.

“of course.”

“some things,” fenris says, pauses. “i find…difficult to articulate. to say them out loud.” he clears his throat and hawke continues to watch him. fenris turns his face and smiles. “i’d like to know how to write such words. to…express them, without having to - to speak them.”

“i’m curious as to what you’re thinking of, but i guess that’s the point.”

“yes,” fenris says, and laughs. hawke loves that laugh - there’s something about it that’s too pure, sometimes unexpected from a face so cracked with sorrow. but hawke smiles every time they hear it.

-

“no,” hawke says as anders and merrill look at them with fear in their eyes. “no, i’m going to go home. seriously. stop looking at me like that.”

fenris is leaning against the front door of the hanged man, eyes narrowed. he doesn’t say anything.

“you’re limping,” varric says, and aveline nods. guilt twists itself around in hawke’s stomach but they just shake their head, leaning on their staff. 

“are you  _sure_  -” anders starts, stepping forward to grip hawke’s arm. it’s not a hard grip, but it touches a tender bruise and hawke slips away. anders mutters an apology. “are you sure you don’t want to stay at the clinic?”

“look,” hawke says, wiping their forehead with the back of a gloved hand. “i know you’re all worried, but i’m literally just tired. just a couple of bruises. no, your regeneration spell isn’t necessary, thank you, anders. save it for someone else.” anders smiles, lips pressed together. “i’m going to go home. and i’m going to sleep until i can’t sleep. and you’re all going to play wicked grace and varric is going to tell me when anders ends up the only one naked. alright?”

“hawke,” aveline says, voice straining. “can i at least walk you home?”

hawke laughs. “of all the people to worry, aveline? do you really have such a crush?”

aveline laughs. “offer retracted, then.”

hawke smiles at merrill, hoping it’ll comfort her, and the group heads into the bar. fenris is the last one standing. “i’m going home,” hawke says. “you’re not coming with me.”

fenris shakes his head. “no, not tonight.” he smiles though, and hawke can’t help but smile back. “but…” fenris steps forward, unfolding his arms and wrapping them carefully around hawke’s waist. the kiss is warm. hawke wishes the wine in hightown was so satisfying.

“stay safe,” fenris whispers, and hawke nods.

-

the estate is quiet. bodhan and sandal are asleep in their quarters, as is orana. hawke tries not to make much noise, their staff clattering to the floor. they take each stair one by one, muscles straining and back tense. sleep is all hawke can think about, and they’re about to fall down on top of the sheets when they see the parchment on the bed.

sighing, they reach and pick up the paper, expecting it to be something from anders’ manifesto, but it’s different, it’s got a wax seal - it’s an envelope.

hawke frowns and carefully tears open the envelope, sitting down on the bed. inside is another piece of parchment, thick and folded into thirds. hawke unfolds it and peers down at the handwriting. it’s thick, awkward; the letters are too big and take up too much space, and there’s a slight slant to each word that makes hawke tilt their head.

_i know you know i love you_

_there’s a branch in my chest, my heart, when i am with you_

_the comfort is impossible. you are the warmest thing i have ever touched_

_i wish for you to lean on me. onto my shoulder sometime._

_these hours with you are the happiest calmest hours i have had_

_thank you_

fenris’ name is scrawled at the bottom, barely recognizable.

hawke aches, and holds the parchment to their chest, closing their eyes and breathing deep.


End file.
